


Lip sync for your life

by TooDumbToDie



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Beating the shit out of people, Death, Decent amount of crying, Happy Ending, Misgendering, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24749641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooDumbToDie/pseuds/TooDumbToDie
Summary: In that moment I swear that one day, I'll choke him and not in a kinky degenerate way. I’ll get to watch the light drain out of his fucking eyes while I stand over him. And I'll fucking enjoy every second of it.Post-Left is roped into helping Homonationalist getting revenge on Nazi, all thanks to a one night stand.
Relationships: Mentions of past leftunity - Relationship, Post-leftist/Homonationalist, but only briefly I think
Comments: 45
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> CW: for slurs (F slur and some more minor homophobic slurs) also Post-Left gets misgendered alot in this chapter tho that will change in upcoming shit

**Seven months ago - Homonationalist**  
“You’d submit to me that easily? Do you just like my aesthetic?”   
“Nazi, I want to defend the west because the west gives me the rights to be degenerate. If the third world takes over, they’re probably gonna stone me to death.”   
“And you think I won’t put you to death so you follow me?”  
“I’d follow you anywhere, especially into the bedroom.” I give him a little wink.   
“Oh. Oh okay. Welcome aboard” a cackle escapes his, what I assume are, soft lips. The strong lines of his face transform into an evil grin. God, I want him to fuck me so badly. If he gave me his hand and let me to his bedroom, I would follow him. Without hesitation.  
“Okay, Ernst Röhm. I know who I’m purging first.”  
  


I laugh with him. I’ve finally achieved what I’ve wanted for so long.  
Meet Nazi.  
  


**Six months – ago  
** I order wine and wait. The red liquid catches the light, glimmering and deep red as I swirl it.  
I watch the other people in the restaurant come and go. I consider ordering food. I watch families, other happy couples and people here for business dinners. I hear happy laughter coming from other tables and it twists like a knife in my gut. That dull ache inside of my chest.  
  
30 minutes pass. Then an hour. Then two hours. At that point, I know he’s not coming.  
  
  
  
I trudge home but, on an impulse, I keep walking. I walk past my house and let my feet carry me to the Centricide home.  
  
A little lamp lights up the front door. I swallow and quickly straighten myself up before knocking. Steps from emanate from inside of the house, they're heavy footfalls.  
  
The commie opens the door. When he sees me, he grimaces.  
“Nazi your boyfriend is here,” he yells into the house and then turns back to look at me. I fidget under his gaze.  
  
Nazi marches to the front door and Commie takes it as his cue to disappear. Nazi’s face twists into a sneer when he sees me.  
“What do you want from me faggot.”  
“You said we could go to a nice place for dinner and since you didn’t turn up I just wanted to y’know check on you...”  
He laughs.  
“You thought I was serious? You thought I was gay and actually wanted to go out with you? You lispy fucking queer. I was just fucking joking” and he laughs some more. It’s a horrible harsh sound filled with cruel joy and it cuts straight through my heart. My insides crumple, completely crushed and destroyed.  
“You fucking disgust me.” and he slams the door shut.  
  
  
I stand in front of the closed door for a few seconds and I sigh. I can feel tears starting to well up in the corner of my eyes.  
  
  
When I get home, I see my reflection in the mirror in my hallway. I look like a dishevelled hag. Fag. My mascara has run down my cheeks, my eyes are red, and my cheeks are puffy.  
I go to wipe off my ruined makeup. I put in extra effort today to look nice just for the date and look what happened. It’s all fucking ruined. It was all for nothing. I hoped that maybe he’d care about me even slightly. I hoped and then he dashed it against the rocks. I never fucking learn.  
  
  
I curl up on my sofa and cry myself to sleep. The sounds of some soap playing in the background soothe me into a fitful slumber.  
  
  
  
  


**Three months ago - Homonationalist  
** Blood pools up around my fingers. A ringing in my ears. The smell of gunpowder. I almost can't believe it. I can’t even feel the pain even though I see the hole.  
White Identarian stands over me. I stretch out my hand, clawing for him desperately. One of my nails came off in the fight. NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO THINK ABOUT MY FUCKING NAILS I’M GOING TO DIE.  
“Nazi… please help me...” I croak.  
“You finally got what you deserved you fucking degenerate.” he sneers and tucks his gun back into his pants.

Around me lie strewn the bodies of two of the centrists where they had fallen. The other fascists form a circle around me like a satanic cult, towering over me. But only Moderate Lee is showing any signs of distress.  
“Please help me Lee…” I reach out to him too. He reaches out his hand but our hands never meet as White Identarian pulls him away.  
“Don’t worry, we can leave the thing to die. We better get going.”  
As they leave, Moderate Lee turns his head to look at me. His face is full of remorse, terror and guilt. But remorse can’t save my fucking life.  
“FUCK YOU NAZI, YOU DEGENERATE. I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU.”  
In that moment I swear that one day, I'll choke him and not in a kinky degenerate way. I’ll get to watch the light drain out of his fucking eyes while I stand over him. Providing I even live to see the next day. 

He just laughs. The harsh sound moves further away. I am left behind, surrounded by the dead who I will join soon.  
  
  
And I swear the sound of him laughing echoes.  
Echoes around in my head as my vision goes dark.

  
  


**Present-day - Post-Left  
** I wake up in a stranger's bed with a pounding headache. Last night I got fucking pissed and fucked someone obviously. Not in a ‘too drunk to consent’ way but in a ‘I’m lonely, I’m horny and I have low standards’ way.  
  
I climb out of bed and pull my clothes on. The room is covered in Nazi memorabilia and a framed Hitler picture hangs above the bed. How I didn’t notice that last night, I don’t know. But I want to get out of this place.  
The house is quiet as I make my way to the front door. I turn the handle and shove the door, but it doesn’t budge, even the slightest.  
“HEY ANYONE HOME?”  
I hear footsteps on the landing, the sound of boots on old polished floorboards. I can’t help but cringe when I see who it is.  
  
  
“Hey honey, do you wanna leave?”  
“Yeah let me the fuck out of here or I’ll bash you.”  
“Sure but you have to give me your number first. There’s never any tops in my area and I really need that D.”  
“I’m not giving you my number.”  
“Please… I can be your Nick Fuentes to your catboy.” he pleads.  
“Please this was a one-night stand, just let me go. Plus, I’m not a boy.”  
“Mhm I know, you’re more than that. You’re a real sexy boy.” he saunters even closer to me. I step back in disgust, my back now against the door.  
“Let me fucking go.”  
“Give me your number sweetie and I’ll let you go.”  
“Fine.” and I hand him my battered iPhone.  
He types in his number, his long nails clicking against the very cracked glass.  
“And I’ll just send myself a text from your phone as well. Ta-dah. You’re free to go now.”  
He grabs his keys and unlocks the door. I spill onto the street, finally free from that fucking fascist.

I catch the metro home, back to my apartment. It’s rush hour so I’m forced to stand. The stops and starts of the train shove and pull my tired body around. And the pounding in my head becomes even worse thanks to the constant bustle of people. But I make it home and fling myself into bed but not before checking my phone.  
  


_Homonash: hey cutie xoxo_

  
I consider blocking his number but sleep claims me before I follow through with it.

  
  
**Homonationalist  
** I watch the twink leave. His bat on his shoulder and his back stooped. He looks like a living corpse or a man who returned from the war.  
I go and brew myself a strong coffee and sit down on the sofa.  
No new texts. Nothing from the degenerate commie.  
  
I type him another text but backspace it instead of sending it. ‘Hey wanna go to Starbucks some time? xoxo’. ‘Hey wanna come over and Netflix and chill? xoxo’. ‘Hey wanna watch reruns of The Bachelorette? xoxo’. 

All never sent. Something desperate and clingy wants me to text him but instead, I put my phone down. I turn on the TV, it keeps playing from the channel where I last left off but I don’t really care. I glance over to my phone every 10 minutes. Then 20. Then 30. 

3 hours later and nothing from him. I have to do something.  
  
_Homonash: hey cutie, wanna bash some fash. First, you can bash me and then the Nazi xoxo_

I nearly also delete that one too but I instead risk it and press send. If anyone would help me, it’d be him. The sworn enemy of the fucking nazi. _  
  
  
_

**Post-Left**  
I wake up and check the time on my phone. 5pm. I still feel groggy and hellish. Fuck.  
And a text from Homonash. Fuck. Oh god.  
I read it and I don’t know what the hell it means. Even more fuck.  
  
_Post-Left: what?_

The typing bubble appears a few seconds later.  
_Homonash: I'd really like it if you bashed me. I’m a horrible fascist after all and I need to be taught a lesson. And then we can bash the nazi together xoxo  
_ Post-left: are you tripping? What the fuck are you on about?  
_Homonash: sdhjfhs  
_Homonash: murder


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably needs content warnings but it's 4am and I'm tired so F slur warnings? Sorry for not updating sooner or anything, uni has been fucking kicking my ass.

I’m back in the lion’s den and I’m sitting on his sofa. He comes back with a tray, laden with biscuits and coffee.  
“So honey, do you wanna bash the nazi with me?”  
“I’m confused. I thought you liked him?”  
  


“Yeah, I did. But turns out he didn't really like me back.”  
He starts unbuttoning his shirt enticingly.  
“I’m not here to fuck. Put the damn thing back on please.”  
“I didn’t know you were a prude.”  
He takes off his shirt and stands before me. He’s uncomfortably close, only 30 centimetres away from me. He points under the right side of his rib cage. It’s a really nasty and ugly looking scar.  
“You can touch it if you want.”  
“I think I’m fine. I’m here to bash Nazi, not get laid.” I mean I’m somewhat open to it. Even though he’s gay and I’m not a man. Gender isn’t fucking real but knowing he wants to fuck me makes me dysphoric. But then I’m lonely and desperate.  
I just sigh.  
  
  
“Well sweetie, Nazi did that to me. And I promised when I was bleeding out in that damn field that I’d fucking murder him.”  
“Uh-huh sure,” I say, only half paying attention. I place my face into my hands.  
“You’re not paying attention are you sweetie?” his voice, needy.  
He sits down next to me and puts his arm around me. With the hand around me, he starts playing with my hoodie strings. His nails click against the plastic ends.  
“Pay attention.” he pleads.  
“Okay fine.”  
“Well I want to kill Nazi and you’re really good at killing Nazis. But I’ve never killed a Nazi so I’d like your help.”  
“Okay alright. I guess it pleases my ego and a living Nazi is a threat to me.”  
“Exactly! That’s the spirit, honey. Would you like some coffee?”  
“Sure. Whatever but I'm only helping you on one condition.”  
“And what’s that cutie?”  
“You stop misgendering me. It’s they/them or que/quem. I’d prefer que/quem but I’m not a fucking man so stop calling me one.”  
“Calm down sweetie. Don’t get upset.” he passes me an old mug with a faded Hitler printed on one side.  
“There are only two genders but I’ll use your pronouns. And only because you’re helping me.”  
“Thank you.” I take a small sip of the coffee. It tastes nasty. The fash probably drugged me or something. Never trust fascists. But I’m too mentally exhausted to panic.  
“I think I want to go home now.” I try to stand up but he pulls me down again.  
“No no no you have to stay. We haven't even started planning.”  
“What did you put in the coffee?”  
“A shot of vodka.”  
“Please don’t fucking kill me. I want to go home.” I try to stand up again. This time he lets me.

  
  
  


Turns out the coffee was fine. The next five days pass, they’re relatively normal days. I go skip work because I feel like it. I get pissed again. I smoke pot. All very regular days.  
Apart from the fact that Homonationalist is constantly texting me.

_Homonationalist: hey honey I know a good gay bar, wanna go xoxo_ _  
_ _  
_ _Homonationalist: hey sexy can we make the plans. You’re welcome to stay the night xoxo_

_Homonationalist: hey did you hear about what happened in Ancapistan. I have some tea you might be interested xoxo_

_Homonationalist: you’re not reading my texts, are you?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Homonationalist: hey honey everything alright?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Homonationalist: hey?_

It’s 11pm and I’m flicking through the channels. It’s all utter fucking garbage. I pick up my phone and read what he had just sent me. And I finally bite the bullet and reply. Honestly, I’d rather talk to the fucking fash than mope alone.  
  
_Post-Left: hi_

 _Homonationalist: hey sexy_ _  
_ _Post-Left: hi_ _  
_ _Homonationalist: wanna finally come to my place and plan xoxo?_ _  
_ _Post-Left: I guess_

  
I leave the apartment, my bat on my shoulder and my backpack slung over the other. I trudge through the streets, it’s too late for the metro and I can’t afford a taxi. But the fresh air and exercise feels good I guess.  
  
I stop outside his front door. The lights are on and I can hear music playing. I knock. From the inside, I hear footsteps and then the door swings open. It's a Homonationalist in thigh-high black leather boots and he’s beaming. I admit he does have style and with those heels. I don’t know how he can walk.  
“Hey sexy, didn’t think you’d make it.” he staggers a bit, grasping at the door frame for support.  
“Hi.”  
“Come inside.” he grabs my arm and drags me into his lounge. I sit down on the sofa. He’s blasting Britney Spears from his iPhone, sitting in the corner and there are some bottles of shit sitting on the coffee table. For some reason, he has a really large Marie Antoinette painting hanging above his TV but I don’t ask questions. At least she got what was coming for her.  
“It was getting really lonely drinking by myself, sweetie.”  
He goes to get me a teacup. It’s porcelain with little pink flowers on it.  
“Sorry sexy, all the other glasses are dirty so you’re going to have to suck it up buttercup.” he pours me some mystery liquid and forces it into my hand. I hold the fragile cup very carefully, scared that I'll break it.

  
  
“I want to lure him to my house but he doesn’t want anything to do with me.” he slurs and sits down next to me.  
“Wonder why that might be.”  
“He tried to kill me and worst of all, he blocked my number.” he puts his head on my shoulder. I just nod and take a sip from the teacup, holding it with both my hands out of fear.  
“Thought so.”  
“I’m so fucking lonely sweetie.”  
“Yeah, I feel you. I’m also lonely all the time.”  
He places his hand on my thigh and it slowly travels up my leg towards my crotch. He then whispers into my ear.  
“I think I have a solution.”  
“You are very drunk. I’m not fucking you.”  
“Embrace degeneracy.” his lips tickle my ear.  
“I’m not fucking you when you’re drunk.”  
“What if I’m sober.” he removes his hand and strokes my cheek with his claws.  
“I’ll consider it.”  
Honestly, I genuinely might actually do it. I hate myself for being alright with it. For letting myself essentially be misgendered just for a night of pretend human connection and something slightly resembling love.  
“Good. I won’t let you forget that. I just really want some fucking dick right now.”  
“I don’t think you’ll remember all of this in the morning.”  
“We’ll see about that.”

We do it when he sobers up.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this isnt the best, i am not in tip top state

I hear my phone go off. I don’t even need to check who it is. It could only be Homonationalist. No one really texts me anymore.  
  


_Homonationalist: come over it’s extremely important_

The lack of ‘xoxo’ sets off small alarm bells in my head so I grab my bag and beat and make my way to the metro.  
When I arrive at his house, I open it. It’s not locked. Those small alarm bells become medium-sized.   
I step inside. With each step, the sound from my boots ring out loudly in the deadly quiet house.  
  
“HOMONATIONALIST?”  
No response. I check all the downstairs rooms. There’s no one in the kitchen or the dining room or anywhere.

Then I head upstairs searching three bedrooms until I hear a response. It’s coming from the bathroom.  
“Honey?”  
I knock on the door.  
“You can come in sweetie.”  
  
  
I open the door and step into the bathroom. I quickly get a good view of Homonationalist in the bathtub and quickly avert my eyes.  
“What the fuck. I thought you were dying?”  
“Yeah dying of boredom sweetheart.”  
I roll my eyes at him (which he can’t see).  
“But let me explain.”  
“This better be a bloody good explanation.”  
“I ran out of wine but if I were to go buy some, my water would be cold by the time I got back.”  
“So you want me to get you some wine?” my voice is rising in pitch.  
“Yes. My wallets on the kitchen counter. Get me a good red wine just not an Italian one, please. I fucking hate those traitors.”  
“You gotta be fucking kidding me? I wasted money on the metro for nothing?”  
“Sweetie you can help yourself. Take 50 dollars for yourself if you want. I don’t mind.”  
“Does this money have strings attached?”  
  
  
I can’t help but be suspicious about this. Worry nags at the edges of my brain. Something doesn’t feel quite right. Maybe I’m not used to trusting people especially after the shit with Tankie. But I don’t know since Homonat has actually been alright, creepy but alright. Like I know he’s not going to kill me or something. I guess that's always a good start.   
  
“Of course not sweetie. But while you’re on the way out, can you get me a bath bomb? They're in the drawers under the sick.”  
  
  
I pull open the cabinet, it’s full of toiletries, medication and of course the bath bombs I was looking for. I grab a random one, it’s wrapped in paper and is perfectly round.  
I walk towards the tub, my back turned to him and hold it out to him. I feel his wet hand grab it.  
“Sweetie, why are you acting so prudish? I thought you were a slutty communist degenerate and plus you’ve seen me naked before.”  
I don’t reply even though everything in me wants me to correct him. I’m not a communist.  
I just walk out of the bathroom.  
  
  
  
  
Half an hour later I return with a bottle of red wine and the 50 dollars in my back pocket. I just grabbed a random bottle off the shelf and just made sure it wasn’t Italian.  
He’s also still in the tub but at least now I can look at him, the blue water in the tub obscuring everything.  
  
I hand him the bottle and watch him struggle to unscrew the cap, his wet hands not being able to get a grip.  
“Honey I need a big strong man to open this. Can you do it for you?”  
“Please stop calling me a man. Please?”  
He pouts. I don’t know how I tolerate him.  
“Sorry. I forgot. Just open the damn bottle for me.”  
I wipe off the water of the bottle for him and open it. He takes a large swig straight from the bottle.  
  
“So sexy, how are we going to kill the Nazi?”  
“Shoot him? Poison him?”  
“I say we kidnap him.”  
“How the fuck do we do that?”  
“We just turn up at his house and kidnap him. I’m sure the commie will let you into the house after all.”  
“I really don’t want anything to do with Tankie.”  
“Why not. He’s really attractive. Is he ripped? Is he hung?”  
I cringe.  
“We are not dealing with Tankie.”  
“Yeah sure. What if Ancap has a grudge against him? Ancap would make a good sugar daddy or I bet he’ll be willing to help if we just pay him enough.”  
“Do you even have the fucking money?”  
“Mmm sweetie, I have money.” I raise my eyebrow.  
“I have an OnlyFans.”

  
“Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.”  
“Also we might have to go to the nearest hardware stores for supplies. Like what do you use to clean up dead bodies again darling?”  
“Bleach.”  
“Yes thank you. And zip ties and duct tape and like maybe one of those black trash bags. I go to the hardware store all the time so this should be easy. But first, we have to call Ancap, honey.”  
  
  
  
  
I grab Homonationalist’s phone and he gives me the pin. He then makes me ring Ancap and hold his phone to his mouth.  
  
Ancap quickly picks up, his disinterested voice echoes down the line.  
“Hello, this is Ancap speaking, pleasure doing business with you. What do you want?”  
“Hey, sweetie. You may not know me but I’m Homonationalist and I need a little help with something.”  
“Who?”  
“Uh uh. Homonationalist. Like the gay nazi. The one who used to crush on Nazi.” his voice titters slightly and the corners of his mouth start to quirk downwards.  
“Still don’t remember who you are. Literally no clue but anyway, what do you need?”  
And that kills what was left of Homonationalist’s “cheery” demeanour.   
  
“Well darling, we need to get into the old Centricide house.”  
“You know that’s my private property and who’s ‘we’?”  
“Uh me and Post-Left.”  
“Hi” I add.  
  
“Lovely to see you Anc- Post-Left I mean. Well, what can I help you with? For a fee of course.” and Ancap audibly perks up. I take the phone away from Homonationalist’s face and he just looks up at me, dejected.  
“We need to get into the Centricide house.”  
“Why exactly would you ever need that. You left Centricide for good.”  
“We need to get something done there.”  
“I guess this has something to do with Nazi or Commie.” his smugness permeates through the bedazzled iPhone.  
“I- we, I mean are going to kill Nazi.” he chimes in, his voice cold.  
  
  
Ancap just laughs in response. Homonash settles back into the bathtub, his face stony.  
“Whatever, I’m sure you will. Do what you want, just don’t destroy the house... unless you’re willing to pay of course. Just transfer the 10k to me, you have a week.”  
“What the fuck? We never discussed money.”  
“Well Postie, I know you don’t understand basic economics but I’m making you pay a toll for stepping on my private property.”  
“You know I can’t afford that.”  
“Well for my favourite anarchist, I’ll bring the price down to 5k.”  
  
“I have the money,” interrupts Homonationalist before I manage to say anything else.  
“And now we’re talking. Send me it as soon as possible. Oh and also, if you ever need a place to stay Postie, Ancapistan is always an option.” and then he hangs up.  
  
  
Homonationalist sighs and rolls his eyes.  
“At least I have the OnlyFans I guess. I can also just get a sugar daddy again. Maybe Hoppean or something. Ancap even though I heard he’s married. I love men with issues, it adds flavour.”  
I just nod in response. I don’t know what to say.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He struts through the automatic doors of the hardware store. I trail behind him.  
We spend around twenty minutes scouring the ceiling-high shelves in the massive store but we find nothing. Just shelves upon shelves of nails, screws, paint swatches and wood. The more we search, the less we find and the more agitated he becomes. He’s rapidly clicking his nails on the phone in his hand and his confident strut is long gone.  
  
“I thought you knew where everything was. You said come here all the time.”  
“Yeah to pick up middle-aged men who don’t love their wives, you idiot. Do you think I go here to buy paint or toilet seats?” and he points at plumbing behind us.  
  
  
A retail assistant approaches us, a helpful smile on his face.  
“Do you need any help?”  
“Nope, I’m fine.” Homonash snaps at him and then instantly grimaces.  
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be a bitch sweetie. I’m just really stressed but no we’re fine. I promise.” but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself instead of the assistant.  
“We just need some duct tape, black trash bags, bleach and that’s all.”  
  
The assistant looks at us, his fake retail smile slipping up for a second in mild concern.  
“Haha, sweetie don’t worry. The dog just had a really bad accident on the carpet and I need the duct tape because I accidentally broke something.” and he bats his eyelashes at the man, all annoyance seemingly gone.  
“So I’ll just leave you to it?”  
“No, no, no darling, can you please help me. Like a personal shopper.”  
  
  
  
In 10 minutes, we find what we were looking for and then head back to his place.  
While in the car, he speaks up.  
“Hey honey, do you want to stay the night at my place.”  
“Uh, we should stay as friends.”  
“Yes sweetie I get that. You can still stay the night… like in a nonsexual way. You mentioned something about the Tankie man or whatever his name is and we have a lot to talk about honee.”  
"Sure. Why not."  
  



	4. Chapter four

“So sweetie, tell me all about it. Spill the tea. What did the communist do?” and he pats the spot on his bed next to him. I sit down, nestling myself into the mound of pink pillows while Hitler watches us. It hangs on the wall above his four-poster bed but underneath the canopy.  
He also settles down next to me, pulls out his flask and takes a sip. He’s dressed in long sheer pink robes, lined with black fur and I admit, he does look slightly intimidating.  
  
“Yeah so I guess we dated and I left him and yeah. That’s it.”  
“Is that all honey?”  
“No. It fucking sucked. I guess he just used me the whole time.”  
“I feel that honee. My ex-man was a fucking bitch and that’s why I’m going to fucking kill him.” and he does the limp wrist thing.  
I don’t respond.

  
  
“Please continue sweetie.”  
“I guess I was just his little tool for him. Don’t even know if he truly loved me I think. Just used me?”  
“What makes you think that darling?” and he takes another sip from the flask.  
“I guess he never gave a shit about my pronouns and when he did use them, it felt like he was treating them like a little joke he was on.”  
“I mean what’s so bad with that? They’re just stupid weird pronouns?” and he looks at me quizzingly.  
“It fucking destroys me. Homonat, it makes me want to be not perceived. I just want to leave the house without wanting to fucking cry.”  
“Sweetie I really don’t understand but you have my support.”  
I see genuine concern ripple across his face.  
  
“He’d just constantly misgender me. All the fucking time. And I feel like he never thought of me as non-binary, he just looked at me and saw a man and that kills me. It makes me want to scream from just pain. I don’t know. And I’d tell him to stop and he’d ‘try’ but he’d never actually do it if that makes sense.”

  
He nods and takes another sip.

  
“I think I was just his little pet dog. He’d teach me some tricks and then go and clap and go ‘great job Ancom’. And then. Yeah.”  
“And then what sweetie?”  
“And then he’d go take me to the vet and put me down. A bullet to the fucking brain without hesitation.”  
I start to feel something pricking up in my eyes and I try to frantically rub it away before it gets worse.  
  
  
Memories of his fingers in my hair. His soft warm kisses. His fingers on my skin. And then the not so good memories. The memories of where he was emotionally abusive, possessive, controlling. His cold cruel horrible face. The field of flowers. His soft smile and dappled early morning sun rays. The cold barrel of the gun. I don’t want to think about the other shit. I try to blank my brain but it doesn’t work. Him using me. Him manipulating me for the revolution. Him controlling me. His possessiveness. How nasty he got when things didn’t go his way.  
  
  
“One day his little kitten and then dead the next.”  
“Oh sweetie that’s fucking horrible.” and he sits up, his arms open beckoning me for a hug.  
  
  
He scoops me up, his arms wrapping around me. It’s a surprisingly soft and loving hug from a scrawny Nazi. He pats my back.  
“Honey, it’s okay. Yes, I will. It’s going to okay.”  
“He didn’t think I was fucking valid. That I was just another fucking man to him. Please please you have to gender me correctly. Please.” I plead, my vision blurred with tears.  
He rubs my back.  
“Whatever you need sweetie.”

I cry into his shoulder and he rubs my back soothingly. The tears just keep coming, like I've opened a dam and I can’t stop it. He doesn’t seem to care about the growing wet patch or the fact I'm sniffling into his robe.  
“Darling it’s going to be okay. Just let it all out, honey. Let it all out. I’m here for you. I’ve got you. You’re going to be alright.”  
And I just cry into him. His boney arms are my refuge which sounds weird to say. I feel safe. I feel genuinely safe for the first time in months and it's with a fascist. Sure he’s a bit creepy sometimes but I’m just so fucking grateful, so full of fucking love. All these warm, gooey and cathartic feelings in me which I don't know how to describe start to bubble up. Love.  
  
  
The flow starts to slow but he’s still patting my back.  
“Far better now darling?”  
“Yeah.” I sniffle.  
“You are a strong independent non-binary or whatever the word is who needs no man.”  
“Yeah you’re right,” I mumble into him.  
  
I remove myself from his arms and stand up to grab a box of tissues sitting on his dresser, leaving him by himself on the bed.  
“Fuck him sweetie” and he snaps his fingers in a z formation.  
“You don’t need that man and it’s good you finally got rid of him.”  
“You’re right. Thank you.” and I nearly start crying again.  
“Don’t gotta thank me honee.”  
  
  
  
“Sweetie I have something that will make you feel better.”  
“What?”  
  
He stands up and walks to his dresser. It’s covered in wigs, loose jewellery, open makeup and other junk. He grabs an eye shadow pallet and a brush and sits back down on his bed.  
He cracks it open, quickly runs his eyes over the colours and then dips the brush in one of them.  
“I’m going to make you pretty sweetie.”  
“Okay,” I say weakly.  
  
I don’t have the energy to fight him or really to do anything at all so I just let him practice makeup on me. He experiments with my eyeshadow, eyeliner and then my lipstick. As he paints my face, my mind wanders. It wanders back to Tankie.  
  
I have to get him out of my mind. I have to stop calling him Tankie. He's just Commie. And then the swirling thoughts come back. Thoughts about the happy date nights where we went to riots or snuck into movie theatres. My hands in his. Tracing my fingers over his scars, both of us lying naked in bed. Him whispering Russian into my ear, the hairs on my neck prickling. 

But also knowing that the good Tankie I knew is dead and gone. The memories are dead and gone. Hanging onto them or cherishing them won’t bring him back. It’s all gone and I have to let it go. I just have to let it go. But I don’t want to. Sometimes I just want to go back to him. I was the one who ended it, not him. I don’t think he’d take me back but I can beg. Maybe he hates me now. Maybe he thinks I’m a traitor.  
  
But he also was a piece of shit. I did it for my own good. I have to look after myself. He’s part of my past, not my present or my future and I have to keep it that way. I tell myself this. I have to let him and his memories go.  
  
My body shudders and the tears start to trickle down my cheeks again, all the gooey happy feelings extinguished. Homonat quickly puts away the brush and the pallet. I feel his arms around me.  
“Hush sweetie it’s going to be alright.”  
And he just lets me cry. All of his beautiful work runs down my cheeks. Blacks, greens, pinks. But he doesn’t mention it.

I cry it all out and remove my makeup in his small bathroom. I look like a bombshell, my face lit up in his mirror. The bulbs around the mirror showing off every pore and every makeup streak in high contrast and definition.  
A living nightmare that crawled out of the depths of hell.  
  
  


When I wander back into his room. He has a glossy magazine on his lap which he’s idly flipping through and the flask is sitting next to him.  
I sit back down on the edge of the bed and he looks up.  
  
“Hey, sweetie do you want to cuddle. It looks like you really need it.”  
“But only platonically. Alright?”  
“Yeah... sure. We can do that.”  
And together we fall asleep in his four-poster bed. I dream of nothing but it’s the first time I’ve slept well in a long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to ask my transfem friend with help for this. Also give me validation.
> 
> Shits gonna get a lot more exciting in the next chapter


	5. Chapter Five

We pull up outside the old Centricide house. Memories flood through me. Some of them good but most of them are bad. All the fistfights we had, the guns that got drawn and all the other horrible shit. I remember the time Nazi got really nasty and broke my arm. I remember the miserable fucking breakup. Ancap was the only person who wasn’t straight up horrible. But he just let everything happen, not stepping in to help in fear of breaking his stupid NAP. At least he gave me free LSD. I guess.   
  
We unlock the front door with my old keys and I’m eternally grateful that they never got around to changing the locks   
We step inside.   
  
I have my bat and two Molotovs. He has the rope slung over his back, the damn zip ties and a loaded pistol.   
It feels like death walking into the house. It’s completely silent apart from the sound of his heels on the wooden floors. An unsettling silence we’re breaking.   
  
We sneak through the house.   
“Sweetie I don’t think he’s home.”   
“You could say that louder.”   
“HEY SWEETIE WHERE ARE YOU.” he hollers through the empty house but nothing happens. No angry Russian yelling. No slurs being hurled at my way. Just pure silence.   
  
  
  
  
**Homonationalist**   
Postie opens the door and we step in. His room is relatively neat and orderly with windows looking over the driveway. Que makes a bee-line for his wardrobe and rips the doors open. Inside hang military uniforms and que rips them off their hangers. I hear the sound of ripping fabric and can’t help but wince. I could have worn those but instead, they get thrown to the floor.   
  
Que brings the bat up over quer shoulder and it swings home onto the wooden doors. The force rips them off their hinges. Wood splinters fly like glitter. Que turns around at me, a gleeful smile dancing on quer face. The exhilaration one only gets from causing pure fucking chaos. The joy of destruction.   
  
I pull out my gun and load it. I empty a round into his mirror, dressers and the other wardrobe. Glass splinters, wood splinters and Postie’s bat keeps crunching into his wardrobe. It’s like Kristallnacht all over again, wanton destruction of property.   
“ARMED JOY.” que yells over the din of the gunshots.   
“ARMED JOY.” I holler back.   
  
  
  
I hear the crunch of gravel from the driveway and the sound of a car engine stopping.   
“STOP SWEETIE. SOMEONE’S CAR.”   
Que lowers their bat and drops onto the ground, out of sight from the windows. Instead of doing anything rational, I lie down on his bed for theatrics. My legs in the air as I lay on my stomach and my head on my elbows. I feel so strong and so empowered in this moment. I am a fucking queen. A fucking lipstick Nazi and I’m here to kick ass.   
  
“We should have trashed Tankie's room too” I hear Postie whisper.   
“We can always do that later sweetie also if Nazi walks in, you should probably be hiding behind the door. And then you can wallop him with that thing of yours.”   
Que stands up and does as I suggested, quietly tiptoeing to the door. Quer bat aimed and ready to destroy the next person to walk through the door.   
  
We hear footsteps. They’re heavy and they’re coming down the hallway. I can feel the heart beating out of my chest but I make sure to stay composed. Postie is fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot restlessly. You could cut the air with a knife. Thick, stuffy tension which lingers like a cloud.  
  
The door to Nazi’s room opens. Que hesitates for a split second and then the bat comes home. Steely determination and strength packed into the swing. And then figure crumples on the floor but it’s not Nazi.  
It’s the fucking communist. Que looks at me, slight guilt flashes across quer face but quickly vanishes.   
I see quem crouch down quickly and start rifling through the man’s pockets. Que pulls out a cellphone, a little red book, some money. Which que of course pockets.   
  
While he's still out cold, we drag him to his room and then zip tie him. His room is exactly how I expected it to be. Very orderly and with the white walls completely plastered with communist posters and knickknacks. Heavy bookshelves lean against the wall, completely packed with massive novels and a proud Lenin bust.  
  
  
I watch the man on the floor twitch slightly, his eyes nearly opening and then he wakes.  
“Comrade vhat are you doing and vhat is the fascist pig doing here?” he looks at us, his face full of bewilderment. But that bewilderment quickly fades, replaced with a cold uncaring expression. Like we’re no threat to him at all. Like we’re harmless. So I chamber a new round.   
  
“Fuck you Commie. Fuck you.”   
And he just laughs and smiles at Post-Left, not a shred of remorse to be seen.   
“Fuck you. Aren’t you going to fucking say something?”   
“There is nothing for me to say comrade.” and he chuckles.   
“What do you mean?” quer voice rising in cadence and volume.   
“You would have killed me.”   
“Vhat about it?”   
“But you said you cared about me?”   
Qi shakes a little and I place my hand on quer holder. But it does nothing to relax quem, que’re about to cry and everyone in the room knows that.   
“Vell I lied.” says the Russain matter-of-factly.   
“I never loved you. You vere just another tool to help me achieve revolution. I always found annoying anyvay.”   
I see quem shatter.   
  
I step in before Postie says something and I drive my heel into his sides, a brutal kick in the ribs. His face contorts in pain momentarily and then the it ebbs to the same cold stoicism.   
  
Postie frees quemself from my hand and starts to kick him. Over and over again and I just watch. Every kick rippling across his face, hissing and wincing in pain. The small anarchist's boots breaking the skin under his close, he was bound to have horrible bruises in the morning if Postie even let him make it that far. I know that if I just let quem go at it, that's exactly what might happen.  
And then Postie steps over him and quer fist kisses his face. Bloody red kisses, his nose breaks and the sticky red velvet starts to trickle down the side of his face into his hair.   
They keep pummeling him, fists raining down, fueled by heartbreak and rage. And he just takes every hit. 

  
Once que's had their fun, I pull quem off him. Que tries to squirm out of my arms. Que desperately flails in my grasp, arms swinging and legs kicking, desperate to land a blow on the communist or to escape.   
But I keep squeezing quem and soon enough que stops struggling, all anger spent. Quer face presses into my chest and I start to hear small choked sobs. Que clings onto me like a koala and I grip quem just as tight back.   
  
I let quem cry as I rub quer back. Every now and then I glance over at the communist. He watches us with his piercing red eyes. I shoot him a glare. No one fucks with my friends and gets away with it. But that’s for another time.

  
  
  
  
Together we wander back into Nazi’s bedroom and I lie down on his bed again.   
I press my face into the sheets. I breathe in the scent of the Nazi and as much as I hate him...   
But the doorbell ringing snaps me out of my spell. It rings once briefly. Then twice. And then he just holds the doorbell down for a minute. Postie scurries into position, the baseball bat readied.   
  
I hear the sounds of the door being forced open and yet again boots on the wooden floors. This time it’s not the heavy and sturdy footfalls of the communist hunk so instead it has to be Nazi. I pull my gun out again, check it’s loaded and aim it at the door.   
  
  
  
It's him.  
  
  
  
Shock and surprise ripples across his face for a second. Que doesn’t have time to react as he grabs quem, knocking their bat out of quer hand and holding quem in front of him like a meat shield. Quer arms are twisted behind quer back and que struggles, trying to remove quemself from his vice grip. Que squirms like a worm and Nazi’s nails dig into quer soft wrists.   
  
He smiles at me.   
“Hey sweetie.” and I wink at him. His face sours in disgust.   
“I left you to fucking die.” he spits.   
“Well, it takes a lot more than a gunshot to kill me sweetie.”   
Que tries to elbow him in the gut but he just twists quer arm behind quer back. Que winces in pain.   
“Nazi?”   
“Yes you fucking faggot. What do you want?”   
“Please let the anarchist go.”   
“Is he your new boyfriend.” he sneers.   
“I AM NOT A FUCKING BOY.”   
“Yaaaas. You said it Postie. Trans rights.” and I snap my left hand in approval, my right hand holding the gun which I wave around lazily. Both Nazi’s and Postie’s eyes follow the moving bedazzled barrel like a cat watching a slice of ham. The sparkling rhinestones on the lethal thing entrancing them.   
  
Que stomps on Nazi’s foot, catching him off guard. The skinny little anarchist finally manages to squirm out of his grasp and then rains home an elbow in his chest. And then a punch in his face. And then a well-trained kick in his balls. By the end of it, Nazi is hunched over, wheezing and in tremendous pain. Postie takes quer rightful position over him with a bat and I strut over to join them.   
  
“Excuse me sweetie. I need to speak to him properly.”   
Que shuffles out of the way, quer bat still raised.   
  
I smile down at him and he looks up at me. Lingering pain and fear is painted clearly across his face. His eyes drift back to the barrel of my fabulous gun again.   
“Darling, do you remember what Aleister Crowley said?” I croon to him.   
“Fuck off, you worthless sodomite degenerate.”   
“We have nothing with the outcast and the unfit. Nature’s way is to weed out the weak and my darling, I have decided that you are weak. I mean you couldn’t even defend yourself from the tiny anarchist.”   
That earns me a grumble from Postie but I continue.   
“You’re a disgrace to the white race.”   
“If anyone here is a disgrace, it’s you, you faggot. You’re the one depressing white birth rates by choosing to be a gay.”   
“Shut the fuck up bitch.” and I knee him.   
And I’m about to monologue again but Post taps my shoulder.   
“We should probably tie him up in case something goes wrong.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  
We manage to get him back home into my basement. It’s a horrible concrete basement lit by a singular naked bulb and filled with boxes of assorted crap. We tie him to the chair in the middle of the basement.   
“You sure the knots are going to hold? Shouldn’t we use the zip ties we bought or something?”   
“Trust me, honey, I know exactly what I’m doing.   
Que just nods.   
  
  
  
I walk up to him and smack his cheek. He looks like a mess. Bruises are starting to appear and his face and nose are crusty with dried blood.   
His head moves lolls but that’s it. He doesn’t wake. We had to knock him out so we could transport him.   
  
An hour later after a good dinner which Postie cooked, we check on him again. This time he’s awake and he’s fuming mad. His blue eyes are thunderclouds and it would almost be romantic. If we weren’t going to kill him. Well I’m going to kill him. This is my revenge, not quer revenge.   
  
I walk up to him. Even in the face of death, he still finds some time to sneer at me.   
“Fucking faggot. What do you think you’re going to fucking do? You useless fucking degenerate.”

“Hon-ee I may be the most decadent slut since the fall of Rome but I’m a Nazi just like you. I love murder. I love genocide and I love the white race. But you forgot that.. you weak little bitchboy.”  
“When I get out of here I will line you up against the wall and have you shot. Your blood on the fucking wall. Just you wait until Eco-Fascist finds me...” he struggles against his bonds. But it’s all for nothing.   
“Sweetie no one will find you. I will sister snap your neck.”   
  
I let my hands slide up around his neck, my nails poking slightly into his soft honeydew flesh. I got a new manicure this morning, just for this. And then I start to squeeze. 

He gasps for air, his face going red and then blue just like his uniform.   
“Fucking fu fagg ot I will ki ll you.” he says desperately in-between breaths. He tries to break free from the restraints again but I know my shit. Resistance is futile. He will not get out of here.   
I can’t help but grin and look up Post-Left, quer face transforms into pure terror and fear. Que’s scared of me. But at least my eyeliner is killing it today.   
A laugh escapes my lips, there’s just something so fucking funny about this. The strong manly White Identarian who tried to kill me, dying at the hands of some mega faggot.   
A pathetic little degenerate queer was his downfall.   
  


And then a wave of doubt hits me like a freight train. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can actually take someone else’s life. Well I mean it’s okay if it’s brown people but this is Nazi. This is different. I loved him. I really truly loved him.   
  
I ease up a bit and his goes a slightly more normal colour.   
“I’m... going... to fucking... gas you.. Dachau... Chelmo.., Auschwitz...” he splutters, trying to catch his breath. Any doubt quickly dissipates. I’m going to do this. I can do this. I am a boss bitch.   
His pitiful begging is all for nought I tighten my hands again.   
  


  
This time I do it for real. I see the light flicker out of his eyes. His body goes limp in the chair. I release my hands and look at Post-Left.   
“That was great.”   
  
Que looks at me with that familiar look of fear in quer eyes yet again. Que says nothing.  
“Darling do you want to go to Starbucks? After we get rid of the body of course.”   
“Yeah… I guess.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, I havn't written anything proper in a while so I'm out of practice, you're still legally obligated to give me validation.
> 
> Also if I misgendered ancom, please tell.


	6. Epilogue

He drives like a lunatic, running a red light. And then we hear the wail of sirens and a cop car behind us, it’s red and blue lights flashing. It had probably been waiting, hidden away somewhere near the intersection at the intersection for someone to do exactly. We hadn’t seen it and I curse Homonat’s driving.  
  
“Oh SHIT! It’s the pigs.”  
“Relax sweetie, you don’t smell like pot. We’ll be fine.”  
“We have a fucking body in the trunk!”  
“Don’t worry darling, I can handle this.”

Homonat quickly pulls the car over and puts the window down. The officer walks towards us, notepad in hand and dressed in an imposing blue and black uniform. I scowl at him but Homonat does the complete opposite.  
“Hey officer, how can I help you?” and he batts his false eyelashes at the officer.  
I know for a fact that if he had long hair, he’d be curling it between his claws. His usual pinks and purples are gone, replaced by a black trench coat and black nails. He looks like he’s a gay nazi dressed for a funeral which would be accurate.  
“I think you know why you were pulled over. You were going 30km over the speed limit and ran a red light.”  
“Oh, darling. I’m really sorry about that. Is there anything I can do to make up for it. Like an apology or anything.”  
The cop looks at him, his face deadpan.  
“I will write you up a speeding ticket. You can pay online or you can go to a court hearing.”  
“Oh.” gulps Homonat.

Once we’ve been written our ticket, the officer lets us go and we drive off. Luckily he doesn’t even check the trunk.  
  
  
  
His car pulls up at the side of the road and we climb out.  
It’s a quiet stretch of road, there’s nothing to see but the quiet stretch of road that snakes through the dense forest. The occasional car passes but otherwise, we’re completely alone.

Where the tarmac of the road stops, there is about a metre of leaf bedecked ground before it starts to slope off into a steep ravine, it’s sided covered in awkwardly growing trees.  
“Sweetie I think this will do.”  
“You think?”  
“No I don’t darling.” and he snaps his fingers.  
  
He walks over to the trunk and opens it, his Louboutins clicking on the tarmac. Inside is a tarpaulin wrapped mass. We know exactly what to do. I grab one end and he grabs the other.  
“Be careful, be careful” he totters in his heels, the weight of the mass unbalancing him.  
“You should haven't worn those.”  
“Yeah, sweetie. I really shouuuldn’t have.”  
“Yep.”  
“I would have worn my Louis Vuitton pumps and the new lipgloss I bought instead.”  
I sigh.  
  
But we made it to the edge of the slope and drop it.  
Together we watch it roll down the steep incline and gather up speed, thunking and jerking every time it hits a tree stump.  
Soon it disappears from our view forever.  
  
 ******  
  
**

We’re sitting in Starbucks again, at his insistence. He takes a sip from his ice coffee.  
“So sweetie what are you going to do?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Are you going to accept Ancap’s offer and move in. Like into Ancapistan? I mean he is married so he’s not really an option until he’s 50 and he downloads Grindr. But I heard Minarchist is cute. He might be an option but I don’t know if he’s taken or not.”  
“Honestly I’m not ready for a relationship at the moment. I’m not completely over Tankie and I’m still trying to get back to normal if that makes sense.”  
He nods thoughtfully.  
“I get that sweetie.”  
  
“No offence sib but I bet your apartment is tacky and your life sucks. So, do you want to move in? I can be the gay rights and you can be the trans rights. Together we’re iconic and I won’t even try to bone you.” he takes a sip “unless you want too of course...”  
“Yeah. Yeah, that actually sounds really good.”  
I feel a warmth in my chest and a smile stretches across his face. He stands up and leans over the table in his best attempts to hug me, squeezing me tight. He’s practically squeeing with delight.  
“Thank you so much Homonash, you’re the best.”  
“No worries sweetie. I’ll be your gay best friend.”  
  
We walk back home giggling, laughing and a spring in our step.  
Life is good and I'm happy. I am happy, loved and safe.  
I can't help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so fucking much for reading this and genuinely thank you so much to everyone who left comments and everything.  
> Thank you so so so much.
> 
> Also just gonna shill my jritter one last time but @The_Red_Menace

**Author's Note:**

> Also if parts of this read like NoTittyBimbo's fic, thats a coincidence since I finished this fic a couple of months ago.


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